


i've been meaning to tell you, i think your house is haunted

by chewysugar



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, Flash Fic, Inspired by Music, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, M/M, Protective Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Jason's apartment is a home only in the rudimentary sense of the word.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 3
Kudos: 77





	i've been meaning to tell you, i think your house is haunted

An open room at Wayne Manor, and Jason has to keep living in a rent-controlled one-bedroom on the wrong side of Columbia Point. It’s cramped, odd bits of furniture found on Craig’s List pressing in like a belt. There’s odd and ends of all kinds on the shelves: from tiny little knickknacks to books from the bargain bin. Anyone who doesn’t know Jason well would be surprised that he has such a stack of paperbacks, but he can read—and Dick knows he likes it.

Lounging on a leather couch with cushions that have sagged inwards, Dick finds himself looking around at Jason’s home away from home. It’s another dimension away from Wayne Manor, with its Spartan walls and shelves devoted to first editions and statuary. Where Jason has posters, Bruce has portraits. The Manor is fastidious—a monument. Jason’s apartment is a home.

Legs stretched to the opposite end of the sofa, Dick smiles a little. He can hear Jason, clattering around in the kitchen. He’s making what he calls “beefed up ramen.” Here, again, is another sign of the difference. Alfred still waits on the family. Jason, while being a closeted bibliophile, also likes to cook.

Still, as homey as the apartment is, Dick sees through the phantom of it all. It’s painful, this perceptiveness that makes him so primed for the role of ace detective, but he’s pretty sure any Tom, Dick or Harriet off the street could sense the heaviness in the air—could see through the desperate act to make this little apartment overlooking a car dealership parking lot feel like home.

Jason’s never had one before. He’s made no bones of what he thinks of the Manor. Even when he was there as Robin, he was always made to feel like the outlier. And while this place does carry a patina of comfort and personality, Dick can’t help but feel like it’s all out of concerted effort. Jason wants this to be a home so damn badly. Each poster is tacked to the wall to replace a childhood deprived of such things. The Blu-Rays and video games—a library so extensive it would be impossible for someone who actually lives in a place like this to afford—are all there to make up for lack.

With a sigh, Dick sits up just as Jason enters from the cramped kitchen. He’s carrying two steaming bowls of instant ramen. They’re spruced up with shredded carrots, a boiled egg each and mince green onions. Just another way Jason Todd tries to make things better. Cover up the things that are too simple, too banal.

But Dick’s too smart to ever call the demon by its name. These are Jason’s phantoms, and Dick knows how much he likes them. When you’ve lived the life of a stray dog, even ghosts are better company than yourself.

“Here we go,” Jason says, placing the bowls on the stained black length of fabric used to cover the coffee table. “Not exactly an UberEats delivery, but damn well better.”

As much as he knows not to broach the subject, Dick can’t help the flood of feeling. He wants to say he appreciates it. He wants to tell Jason he gets it—that he’ll sacrifice his room at the Manor for this place any day of the week. But the peace is silent as the grave, and Dick won’t disrespect what should stay dead.

At least not outright.

Jason plops onto the sofa. Just as he reaches for his forks, Dick put a hand over his wrist.

Startled, Jason whips his head to the side. There’s maybe one, two seconds tops of deer-in-the-headlights, please-don’t-hurt-me wideness in his eyes. Then the ice goes up, and the inferno starts right there after.

It’s a game of chess, and Dick’s got the queen’s gambit. Before Jason can get him to the quick with some crushing retort, Dick squeezes Jason’s wrist just a little. He thinks about all this—the facade of home that works just a little too well—and says, “Thank you.”

Brought up short, Jason stares at Dick as if he’s just seen one of those ghosts. Then he smiles, shakes his head, and slips his hand away.

“Whatever.”

Dick’s won this round. Together, they dig in, watched by the pretty things that lurk behind the curtains. One day they’ll probably cast them out, but for now they’re just here. Together. In something like a home. In something like love.


End file.
